


you learn to live on less

by saekhwa



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Angst, Black Male Character, Concussions, M/M, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 03:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7996183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/saekhwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Rick wanted was Floyd. What he had was a concussion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you learn to live on less

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moriavis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriavis/gifts).



When Rick bolted up—fast enough for starbursts to swim in his vision from the explosive headache that dragged him right back down—he tried grabbing for his sidearm but had nothing but empty air and a quiet, "Fuck."

He tried hauling himself to his feet. And failed. Despite his rousing speeches to himself, which didn't have shit to do with Floyd and his triangle, Rick slumped back to the ground. On his third try, he managed to roll onto his side, so he could at least accomplish his second order of business: get his bearings and do some preliminary recon. 

What he saw were trees. Trees for fucking miles. He couldn't tell whether he'd been dragged somewhere new or whether he'd been left for dead. Probably the latter. No point in dragging dead weight, and he was pretty sure if it'd been Waylon who'd knocked him out, he'd be half-eaten chow for the rest of the scavengers. 

Might still be if he didn't get his ass up. 

He blew out a breath and tried to at least lift his head, so the soft, damp ground under his cheek wouldn't feel so much like a grave. He got about halfway before the world went ass up. It made Rick so dizzy that he felt bile in his throat, but he shut his eyes, clamped his jaw shut, and breathed hard through his nose until his stomach settled. 

If he'd had the luxury, he would've moved more slowly, but tactically, he didn't have the time, the energy, or the advantage. 

Since getting to his feet had failed and sitting up had failed, Rick tried belly crawling, at first with both eyes closed. After getting a few inches, he opened one eye, but everything still looked soft and hazy as he dragged himself inch by inch. His head throbbed harder and harder until he had to stop, stomach clenching so hard that he started retching, caught in a cycle of misery topped with more misery for his shit sundae. 

Didn't stop him from advancing at a snail's pace. He wanted his back against a tree and wanted to survey how bad the situation was. He reached out and smacked right up against fabric. Shit. He craned his head. Bad idea, but he did it anyway. 

In the blur of his vision, there was only-my-friends-call-me-Floyd standing above him. Head wounds were a son of a bitch. If Rick could've had his pick, he wouldn't've faced down this particular delirium. Particularly as Floyd's face drew closer, looking more and more pissed off. 

"You don't take advice for shit," Floyd said, and the arm he got under Rick felt solid enough, especially as Floyd dragged him to the nearest tree, propping him up. "Happy now?"

Rick grunted and let his head fall back only to hiss in a breath when the bark scraped that head wound he'd been bitching about only seconds earlier. Likelihood of a concussion just increased to one-hundred percent certainty. 

"You just bound and determined to get your ass killed out here," he heard Floyd mutter. 

Then he felt Floyd's palm cup his cheek, rough and dry, even against his stubble, and his chest seized, his vision going sharp for just a second as he stared at Floyd, standing closer than he should've been. 

"What the hell is going on?" 

Rick's question halted Floyd. Still didn't stop Rick's heart from jackrabbiting in his chest. Also didn't help the nausea. 

Floyd snorted in answer and shifted just enough that he was out of focus again, swimming in Rick's blurred vision. "A straight up Shakespeare-level comedy of errors. Guess we're about to see if we get that happy ending."

Chances of that? Piss poor. Rick had had a history of shit endings. 

Floyd's answer wasn't much of one, though, and Rick only had a flat, "What," to try and get him to elaborate. 

Floyd sat on the ground, the only reasonable explanation for him dropping about two inches, his knee knocking against Rick's. 

"Harley saw a spider crawling up Waylon's back. Big one, too. Like something you see out of National Geographic. So she tried to help out by whacking it with her mallet—" Rick blinked, and Floyd nodded, laughing as he said, "Yeah, I know, but she don't make sense on her best days. You tried to step in, because you're a dumb ass, and you must've tripped over a rock or tried avoiding that big ass spider when it jumped. Anyway, I'm gonna need you to tell Waller that I saved you, and your ass is lucky to have me around."

Rick stared. And stared. And stared. "Bullshit."

Floyd laughed. "Oh, okay, yeah, I see now. You thought there was some what? Gun runners? Metahumans? Or maybe you tripped some kind of trap? Nah, man. Just you, a rock, and a hill. And now Harley's Jack and Jill jokes."

Rick shut his eyes and tried to rack the hazy fog of his brain, but goddamn was he tired. 

"Yo, man, stay with me now."

Rick opened his eyes and focused on Floyd's face, suddenly closer, Floyd's hand on his cheek again. "Where's Ya—" His tongue felt like dead weight, but he tried again and again. "Yama—" 

He stumbled over the same two syllables until Floyd said, "Katana, yeah." 

Rick frowned, narrowing his eyes, but tried sticking with single syllables. "Gun?" He exhaled a hard breath through his nose. "The rest of the squad? Mission?"

Floyd nodded after each question, and when Rick stopped struggling to ask every single thing he could think up—and there were plenty—Floyd grinned. Rick focused his attention on Floyd's eyes. 

"You done?" Floyd asked. "'Cause you've got about sixteen more questions, if you want 'em."

Rick just had the one: why had Floyd stuck around? Rick wasn't out of his mind enough to ask it, though, and part of him knew already, just by the way Floyd stayed close, within reach but distant all at the same time. Didn't help that Floyd kept smiling like he held all the cards. When he moved away, Rick…

Let his head fall back again and shut his eyes. 

Rick jumped when Floyd grabbed his knee and gave him a hard shake. Floyd held Rick's sidearm but gestured to his left, and Rick stared, narrow-eyed at his rifle and machete. He reached for the sidearm, but Floyd shook his head and pulled it away. 

"Nuh-uh. Safety first. But I got it, okay. It's right here." Floyd gathered all of it up and walked away with it, and Rick wanted to be pissed, but he couldn't hold his head up, much less his weapon. 

He snapped awake when Floyd set a hand on his knee again. 

"Katana's with the rest of the crew to finish out this mission 'cause we all know Waller won't pick any of us up 'til the job's done. Now. I'm gonna take another look at your head."

Rick responded with a short, abrupt nod that made the world spin and didn't even matter, because Floyd had already shifted forward anyway. Rick shut his eyes, but it didn't shut out anything. Floyd's rough hand cupped his cheek again, and Rick licked his lips as Floyd tilted his head forward until he was propped up against Floyd's chest. Breathing hard through his nose and weakly clutching fistfuls of dirt kept him from anchoring a hand on Floyd 'til he gave that up, too, and set his hand on Floyd's thigh, settling the other somewhere in the vicinity of Floyd's waist. 

The only saving grace to this shit show was how much it fucking hurt when Floyd poked and prodded Rick's head wound 'til hissing in breath after breath only made him more light-headed. 

"That hurts damn it."

"Damn right it hurts," Floyd said, but his touch felt softer, like he was petting Rick's head, stroking the back of Rick's neck. Rick's skin prickled, and the heat in his face was from more than just the jungle humidity. Fuck. "Told you not to move. That I'd be right back, and what do you do? You move. Bet you have a concussion. Bleeding's stopped at least. You feel feverish?" Rather than answer that leading question, Rick swallowed and tried to pull away, but Floyd's grip was stronger. "Feel any pressure in your head?"

"You," Rick said. He hadn't considered it a joke, but the answer earned him a soft chuckle from Floyd, who finally drew back, resting on his haunches and giving Rick some breathing room. 

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

Rick looked up and then narrowed his eyes when he saw what was obviously Floyd's middle finger. Floyd smirked as he moved his finger from left to right, back and forth until Rick slapped his hand away. 

"I'm fine. You can quit pretending you're a medic."

"Don't need to be a medic to know things. I read." Floyd shifted away but turned back to Rick with a canteen. Then there he was again—in Rick's space, cupping Rick's skull, cradling it as he held the canteen to Rick's lips. 

Rick hadn't meant to, but he looked up as he drank, gaze locking with Floyd's. Hard to tell who looked away first. Probably Rick. 

"Got nothing but time in prison," Floyd said, both an accusation and a reminder. 

He took the canteen away, took himself away, and Rick shut his eyes, knowing that if they survived, he'd be the one taking Floyd to visit with Zoe, assuming Waller considered babysitting Rick as doing his part to ensure mission success. Rick'd also be the one taking Floyd right back to Belle Reve…

He jolted up, cheek stinging, and grabbed hold of the nearest thing he could. Of course it was Floyd. There was no one else around for miles. 

"You were falling asleep again," Floyd said, and squeezed Rick's shoulders as he guided Rick back 'til he was pressed against the tree again. "You have to stay awake."

Rick kept his eyes wide and stared at Floyd, who searched his face, brows furrowed, eyes narrowing and adding to the intensity. Too much of it stood in sharp focus. Rick wanted the hazy, blurred world back, but how much of that held any ounce of truth when he leaned forward, within a hair's breadth of Floyd's mouth when Floyd's hand on his chest effectively stopped him. 

"You've got a concussion, man." 

Floyd's words were as as soft as they were the first time they'd kissed a few months back. He'd pulled away then, too, had the same look in his eyes when he'd asked Rick, "What d'you think's gonna happen?" Rick hadn't had an answer, and Floyd had just nodded and taken a step back. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Rick squeezed his eyes shut again and let himself fall back, but Floyd caught him, holding the back of Rick's head, helping Rick rest against the tree again. Then he moved away, but somehow, still managed to be there the second Rick opened his eyes, within arm's reach, but Rick couldn't reach for him. 

Even if they got out of this, the endgame would always be Belle Reve, and there weren't any happy endings in that shithole.


End file.
